


there's a story here

by CaptainOzone



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Smallville
Genre: Bruce Plays Mind Games, Dick Grayson is Robin, Dick is a sweetheart, Gen, Post-Season 10, Post-Series, the beginning of a beautiful friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 15:54:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15146570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainOzone/pseuds/CaptainOzone
Summary: Bruce isn't so sure it's the best idea. Clark doesn't have ANY idea. Dick just wants everyone to be friends.Or: Smallville's Clark Kent meets Bruce Wayne/Batman.





	there's a story here

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I am salty as hell that Batman was not mentioned more than, like, once in an entire ten seasons of Smallville, so here I am, with a post-season-10 oneshot in which Clark meets Bruce and Superman meets Batman. This is far from my best work, but I'm happy as can be that it's out of my head. 
> 
> Also, it bothers the crap out of me they decided to use Bart Allen (Impulse) over Barry Allen/Wally West as The Flash, even if they gave Bart literally every speedster alias they could to fit their rebel-nomad characterization of him. It was rather pointless in my opinion. To paraphrase Nick Fury, I have elected to ignore the CW’s stupid ass decision to use Bart, so if a speedster is mentioned at all, it is the Flash and we are pretending they got it right in the first place. :)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

“You’re looking into them again, aren’t you?”

Bruce spun slowly around in his chair to face his ward. The question was obviously rhetorical: the evidence sprawled across three massive monitors, various newsfeeds and matching profiles in clear display.

Dick’s curious blue eyes scanned the content on the screens. “You know...it’s been a few weeks now since Apokolips nearly blew us all up,” he mentioned casually.

 _And it had been too easy_ , Bruce thought. It had been far, _far_ too easy, even for someone as powerful as the Blur, now re-dubbed Superman, a moniker that very obviously didn’t sit well with the hero, whose nonexistent poker-face betrayed his unease and disapproval with every interview they managed to trap him into.

Darkseid’s movements had not gone unnoticed in Gotham. Batman and Robin had found their fair share of infected, and they’d had their own scare, too, when Batman had been in a vulnerable position after The Joker injured Robin. They’d planned ahead, though, and Bruce had been spared from infection himself. Afterwards, they’d worked tirelessly to prepare for Darkseid’s coming. They had anticipated the worst outcomes they could imagine, conjuring contingency after contingency and hunting down the rogues contributing most to Darkseid’s influence.

But then Apokolips had descended without warning.

For all his plans, for all his contingencies, Bruce had never felt so far out of his depth. He’d hacked into the fabled Watchtower, then the Pentagon, and learned what the government was planning to do. By the time he had come to the conclusion he _had_ to stop trigger-happy politicians from blowing a third of the world sky-high, things were already in motion, and he and Robin had stood atop the GCPD, capes billowing, and watched as the planet overcoming their horizon was _pushed_ away.

And the very first thing out of Batman’s mouth as Gordon, his force, and all the civilians below celebrated and cried in complete and utter relief?

_Darkseid will not take this setback lightly._

Even later, after he took Robin home and finally, _finally_ let himself feel and appreciate the weight of his twelve-year-old in his embrace—after he privately thanked all the known deities and Superman for this second chance—he would not refute those words. Mostly because he hadn’t been able to ignore that impending sense of doom since.

Darkseid would be back, and next time, he would be back _in person_.

“It’s hard to believe, isn’t it?” Dick pressed. “The Blur’s team is making bigger strides into the light. They’re becoming more and more visible.”

“Shouldn’t you be warming up for patrol right now?” Bruce asked, watching a particular clip of a very poorly executed fight between the newly dubbed Superman and a villain named Parasite. Tactical notes accumulated in Bruce’s mind. Even with Watchtower backup, there was a distinct lack of cohesion between the team members, and for each and every mistake he saw, Bruce could list several more alternatives and improvements. He studied Parasite keenly, too. He would need to update his files regarding the meta.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Dick lean back, arching into a graceful backbend. He paced behind Bruce’s armchair and then flipped upright. “You’re avoiding the question,” he said brightly.

“And you’re avoiding mine.”

“Touché, B, touché.”

Sighing, Bruce faced his ward again. “What is your point, Dick?”

“Well...”

Bruce took a mere moment to assess Dick’s hopeful face and mischievous grin. “No.”

“I didn’t even say anything!”

“You didn’t need to.”

Dick groaned. “You do realize that you’re never going to make friends like this, don’t you?”

Narrowing his eyes, Bruce said, “Whoever said I wanted to make friends?”

At that moment, Bruce almost regretted Dick was so sharp, so capable of seeing right through him. His Robin folded his arms and called him out on his shit without blinking an eye. “Why _else_ are you cataloguing them like this if you don’t intend on helping them?”

“Because they are dangerous,” Bruce responded immediately. “They are a threat.”

“So are we,” Dick pointed out.

Bruce exhaled a little too forcefully out of his nose. The kid wasn’t _wrong,_ but he obviously wasn’t seeing the big picture. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“I don’t play well with others, Dick.”

“Lies,” Dick said, and of course the twerp decided to turn a few cartwheels, his megawatt smile sparkling in the knowledge he’d caught Bruce in a lie. “Exhibit A: me.”

Bruce offered a noncommittal huff. Dick Grayson was a special case, and besides, one cheerful Robin was a far cry from an eclectic group of aliens, humans, and metas who each had a personality that would, in all likelihood, clash with his. He’d done enough research into these heroes to know any partnership would probably end in a superpowered fistfight.

Or several.

That’s not to say he hadn’t considered the possibility of reaching out and making himself known. The benefits of working with such a unique team were unprecedented, especially upon reflection of how _useless_ he’d felt when he first saw Apokolips looming in the sky. He wasn’t deluded into believing that threats of Darkseid’s scale were something he could handle himself, and judging from his studies of the team as it stood now, it wasn’t as though his skills would be redundant or unappreciated, should they accept him into their fold.

It was a matter of survival, of ensuring the world and its citizens were _safe_ from global incidents, but this team, Bruce knew, was a fixer-upper, a distraction he might not be able to afford, what with Gotham perpetually balanced on the tip of her personal precipice, always a hairsbreadth away from descending into total madness.

He wasn’t afraid of the responsibility. He just wasn’t so sure he wanted that much spotlight shining on him when Batman and Robin worked best in the shadows. A part of their operation was largely dependent on the air of mystery and fear they’d garnered along the streets. Joining such a public group would jeopardize that, and if they lost the respect of Gotham...

 “I still think you should go find them,” Dick said.

Bruce allowed himself a fond smile. “You just want to meet the Blur yourself.”

“Well, yeah,” Dick said, shameless, “But I also think you need more friends.”

Bruce was going to open his mouth to insist that _I have plenty of friends_ , but Dick had already read his mind and stopped him before he could utter a single syllable. “I mean, outside of Alfred, Dr. Thompkins, and Mr. Fox. These people—” he gestured to the computer monitors “—you can _talk to._ You’re _clearly_ pining to tell them off for their sloppy fighting anyway. Might as well go for it.”

“You think they’re sloppy?” Bruce asked, unable to prevent himself from turning it into a lesson. “Tell me.”

Dick rolled his eyes and pointed to Green Arrow. “He’s had training. Fair strategist, good shot. I would even say he’s the glue that’s been holding them together out in the field, but he’s got a bit of a hot head. Superman has saved people before, _obviously,_ but he fights as though he’s not used to having support, and as cool and awesome as he is, he needs to work on dialing back all the property damage. Black Canary—I don’t have anything to say about her except that she’s badass and I want to spar with her sometime. The others...” Dick cocked his head, surveying the video feeds critically. “They have their strengths, but they are too new at this to work efficiently in a team as big as this one. Cyborg hesitates, Flash and Martian Manhunter aren’t consistent, and Aquaman is...stubborn.”

“Good,” Bruce praised.

“Not good,” Dick said. “They need you, and to be honest, it wouldn’t be a bad thing to have someone else to fall back on, too.”

His tone was deceptively casual, but Bruce could read Dick nearly as well as Dick could read him. A deep pang resounded in his chest as he realized what Dick was really asking him to do. He and Dick hadn’t talked about it, but there had been a real fear, for the first time in his career as Batman, that there was _nothing_ they could do to get out of this alive. If he’d been feeling that way, he couldn’t imagine how Dick had handled the pressure. All things considered, of course he was going to want to protect Bruce, ensure he had a larger safety net.

Bruce reached over and grabbed Dick, rubbing his knuckles into his dark hair before the kid could escape. “You’re something else, chum.”

Dick’s scowl slowly morphed into a broad grin. “You’re going to do it?”

“We’ll see,” Bruce said simply. He contemplated the monitors again without really absorbing anything on the screens. “In the wake of the VRA, I doubt gaining their trust will be easy. We’re strangers.”

 “Well, here’s a novel idea,” Dick said, a teasing note in his voice, “you can change that by—oh, I don’t know—going to introduce yourself instead of stalking them from the depths of your spooky cave?”

“Brat,” Bruce returned. “Go get ready. We’re heading out in ten minutes.”

Dick’s cheeky smile became downright smug. “Aye-aye, captain.”

As the boy raced out of the main cavern and into the locker rooms for his cape and mask, Bruce closed the feeds and files. He wouldn’t say he’d come any closer to a decision, but he'd bet the deed to the Manor that Dick would disagree.

Bruce hid his smile and pulled his cowl on. Damn kid.

~...~

“I can’t _believe_ this!”

Clark cringed and stared with blank eyes at the train ticket Perry White had shoved into his hand. _Gotham_ , he thought with a deep twinge of disappointment. Why in the world did he have to get assigned to a story in _Gotham_ of all places?

No one ever chose to go to Gotham willingly, and the people there...

“I’d trade you for it if I could,” Clark grumbled.  

Lois’ hand shot forward and snatched the ticket from him, and she began pacing, waving it around in a passionate frenzy. It was almost worth getting the assignment to see her so riled up. Lois was glorious, and at the pinnacle of her most gorgeous, whenever there was some injustice done or a big story on the horizon.

“This is a big deal, Smallville!” Lois exclaimed, snapping Clark’s attention back to the situation at hand.

“Well, yeah, it’s Friday night,” Clark complained. “I had plans.”

Lois, true to form, ignored him. “Bruce Wayne has been abnormally evasive ever since he took in that kid of his, and all of a sudden, he decides to throw a charity benefit in the name of the very same ward he’d been keeping away from the press? _Why_?”

Clark leveled a look at his girlfriend and snorted. “Lois, Wayne’s reputation precedes him. He probably got bored and decided to humor his ward by throwing a big party.”

“No, no,” Lois denied, shaking her head. “Wayne may have let Richard Grayson choose which charity to benefit and what food to put on the menu, but this benefit seems far too well put together for it to have been planned on a mere whim _._ ”

“Money talks, Lois,” Clark reminded, unconvinced. “Wayne could cobble together an event this massive in less than forty-eight hours if he really wanted to. Lex has.”

Lois stopped pacing and leaned across Clark’s desk to bop him firmly on the nose. “No,” she scolded. “You can’t go off to Gotham with the mentality that Bruce Wayne is no better than Lex Luthor. Objectivity is key here, Clark. Wayne actually _invited_ the press to come to his ward’s first benefit. We don’t want him to change his mind about letting the Planet cover his events in the future. The more excuses we have to get to Gotham the better.”

Clark recognized the look in her eyes. “This interest in Gotham,” he said slowly, “wouldn’t have _anything_ to do with the Bat, now would it?”

“Who do you think you’re talking to, Clark?” Lois asked. “Of course it does.”

“Gotham is a cesspool, Lois,” Clark said, trying and failing to keep his voice stern.

“That it may be, but it’s a _fascinating_ cesspool.”

Clark recalled hearing that just the other week, a criminal dressed as a clown left a raging trail of grinning corpses in his wake. He shuddered.

“Look, the Bat is more elusive than the Blur ever was,” Lois whispered excitedly, “and it’s rumored he has a little bird tailing him, too. The GCPD refuses to acknowledge their association with him even though they clearly work together. Only a handful of the loonies in Arkham have actually ever verified that the Bat is, in fact, a man _._ Common criminals still claim he’s a demon.”

 Fidgeting, Clark meekly pointed out, “Ignoring the fact that Gotham is the most crime-ridden city in the nation and you shouldn’t want to step foot there so much as once in your entire lifetime, the Blur had his reasons for secrecy, too, not so long ago.”

The fire faded from Lois’ eyes, her expression softening as she finally realized why he was so bothered by her infatuation with the Bat. “Point made,” she admitted. Sitting down on the edge of his desk, she leaned over to rest a hand on his arm.

Clark melted under her touch. “Thank you,” he said.

Lowering her voice, Lois murmured, “But, you know, if Superman _just so happened_ to—”

“Nope. I’m not about to go looking for him, Lois. His secrets are his own.”

When rumors of the Bat first trickled into Metropolis, he’d wondered if, maybe, he _should_ investigate. The Bat was described as otherworldly, dangerous, and terrifying—a dread monster out for souls and blood. People who caught sight of him thought he was comprised of shadow and magic, that he’d crawled out from the very depths of Hell to reign vengeance on Gotham for turning away from the light.

Needless to say, Clark was a little concerned, and considering everything he’d been through, it wasn’t too far of a stretch to think that the rumors had some grain of truth.  

As it turned out, he’d underestimated the power of Gotham and its superstitious.

If it hadn’t been for the Penguin, a prolific businessman (and recently revealed crime boss) from Gotham, the rumors would have probably continued to grow. Once he told his story and other now-notorious villains started to fall in line, it became a little more obvious to Clark that the Bat wasn’t some demon from another dimension. He was _at_ _most_ a metahuman, and since he had never once strayed from Gotham’s city limits, Clark decided that it was best to leave him be.

He could have Gotham, the crazy bastard.

“Yeah, hard pass,” Clark repeated.

Lois huffed. “But that’s no guarantee you won’t actually see him anyway. I know you too well.”

“I don’t intend on getting into any trouble,” Clark said.

“Oh, honey,” Lois said, taking Clark’s coffee mug without asking and sipping from it. “You never do.”

“KENT!” Perry suddenly roared from his office.

Cursing, Clark rushed to his feet and fumbled for his briefcase. His watch read 3:30pm, and his train was due to leave in half an hour.

“Get a move on!” Perry’s voice carried through the halls, and in the blink of an eye, he was standing in the bullpen. The entire mood of the room changed, everyone moving with a little more pep in their step the moment they saw their boss was watching. “That Wayne event isn’t going to report on itself! You can gossip with Lane later!”

“Of course, sir,” Clark said politely, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“Lane, you get back to work, too.”

“Aye-aye, captain,” Lois said as unironically as she could, adding a salute for flair.

Perry’s eyes narrowed, but he left without another word. Clark slung his coat over his arm and said to Lois, “I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon. There’s leftover lasagna in the fridge, and don’t forget Chloe mentioned she needs backup tonight. If you need me for anything—”

Lois waved her hand. “Yeah, yeah. Call me after the benefit, okay? Even if nothing interesting happens, I’ve heard that Bruce Wayne’s parties are legendary.”

Clark smiled and kissed her goodbye before turning to head out. “I’ll be fine. Love you.”

“Love you, too. And hey, Hayseed, have some fun for me, will ya?” she called at his back.

Fun in Gotham? Clark mused. Doubtful.

~...~

The moment Clark stepped into Gotham’s Natural Sciences museum, a champagne flute, etched with the silhouette of an elephant, was shoved into his hand.

He stared at it for a moment before shaking his head and telling the man who just handed it to him, “I’m sorry, I don’t dr—”

The man with the platter disappeared, and Clark was left standing awkwardly in the foyer, quite a few men and women dressed to the nines swarming around him. He sighed and held on to his glass, taking the moment to look around. Most of the exhibitions were closed to the public tonight, but on the ground floor, where the event was taking place, a large sign advertising the new African wildlife and art exhibit stood proudly at the forefront of the lobby. Walking from the foyer and into the large, open room hosting the benefit proper, Clark saw that tables had been set up, their centerpieces colorful, bead-encrusted animal statues all resting on a strip of geometrically patterned cloth. Wooden and stone masks, tapestries, and other artifacts, encased in glass and roped off, lined the walls. The main lighting had been dimmed, allowing orange fairy lights, covered in little woven shades, to cast a soft, almost mystical glow over the party-goers.

The effect was rather cozy and whimsical, Clark decided. Charming, too.

“Hi!”

Clark started, unable to swallow down his yelp of surprise as a little boy materialized before him.

The kid grinned at him, every last one of his teeth glinting in the low light, his startling blue eyes dancing with humor. “Thanks for coming,” he said, and he held out his hand. Clark accepted out of habit more than actual courtesy. “Mr. Kent, right?”

“Um,” Clark said. “How—?”

“Your press pass,” the kid said.

Clark looked down, staring at the tag around his neck. “Oh, right.”

As startling as the boy’s sudden appearance was, his actual _presence_ was even more so. It was a little surreal, talking with a kid, at a function that would likely generate thousands of dollars in donations, full of stuffy old folks and reckless heirs and heiresses who had nothing better to do with their money. Surely a kid shouldn’t be at one of these things? And dressed like that? His hair, once slicked back, was mused, but his suit was immaculate, obviously tailored to fit his lanky body. And hang on...

“Is that an elephant riding a bike on your tie?” Clark blurted, incredulous laughter threatening to bubble from his lips.

The kid looked pleased, and he beamed, lifting the tie up to admire it. “Yeah! I found it [on Amazon](https://www.amazon.com/Mens-Funny-Elephant-Riding-Fashion/dp/B076FVSXXX/ref=sr_1_10?ie=UTF8&qid=1530063329&sr=8-10&keywords=elephant+tie), and I couldn’t say no. I mean, what’s an allowance for if I can’t buy cool stuff like this?”

“That’s _fantastic_ ,” Clark admitted, and he began to laugh for real, holding his very not-special striped tie up for comparison. “I feel very lame now. Who comes to a Save the Elephants benefit without having some neat swag to go with the theme?”

“That’s exactly my point, thank you!” the boy chirped. “My guardians _hate_ it.”

For some reason, Clark had the impression a part of the tie’s value lay in exactly how much these guardians of his seemed to despise the thing. “They obviously have no taste,” he said, as seriously as he could.

The boy bobbed his head in clear agreement. His eyes caught sight of something over Clark’s shoulder, and that was the only warning Clark had before he was startled for the second time that night by a large hand clamping on his shoulder. “I hope you’re not encouraging him into more disastrous fashion choices, Mr. Kent,” a deep voice joked in his ear. “It was hard enough to talk him out of wearing the most garish socks he could find to match that tie.”

Clark spun around to find Bruce Wayne standing casually, his flute of champagne nearly empty. The kid at Clark’s side stuck out his tongue at the billionaire, and Clark realized belatedly that he probably should have known sooner that this kid was, in fact, Richard Grayson, the very kid he was supposed to be including in his story of this benefit _._ Watching as Mr. Wayne stuck his tongue right back out at Richard, Clark wondered what kind of alternate reality he’d been thrown into.

“You’re lucky Alfred isn’t here to see you doing that,” Richard accused. “You’re supposed to be setting the standard.”

“You’re not going to tell on me, are you?” Wayne said with a lazy grin. “You started it, after all.”

“Rude,” Richard sniffed.

Wayne chuckled. “I haven’t seen you in awhile. Shouldn’t you be schmoozing more of these kind ladies and gentlemen into paying lots of money for your elephants, Dick?”

“They’re not _my_ elephants,” Richard argued. “But yeah, yeah, I get it.”

“Your benefit, your responsibility,” Wayne said, and if he hadn’t sounded so peppy and careless, Clark would have almost thought Wayne was actually... _parenting._ “Go on, then, chum. Dazzle the masses.”

Richard cringed a little, but he pulled on a flawless smile. Turning gracefully, the boy waved and said, “Bye, Mr. Kent! It was nice to meet you!”

Clark watched as Richard skipped across the room to greet several other newcomers, who cooed at him and lowered down to his level. The kid didn’t squirm under the attention, instead thriving and playing it up.

“He’s doing well,” Mr. Wayne said, and Clark looked at the other man, surprised to find him still there, watching Richard with obvious pride in his eyes.

“He seems like a good kid,” Clark said.

“Hm. The best.”

It wasn’t exactly clear to him why Wayne was lingering when he could be off flirting or drinking or whatever it was he did, but Clark figured it was as good of an opportunity as any to actually ask some questions. “I wish I could’ve have asked him why elephants.”

Wayne gave him a sharp look, but it was gone before Clark could fully read it. “Gotham’s zoo lost one of their elephants recently,” Wayne mused. “Dick was distraught. They remind him of the circus, so the loss hit very close to home.”

Clark nodded. He’d brushed up on the details of Dick Grayson’s history while on the train. A Save the Elephants benefit definitely made sense, even without the zoo’s misfortune to trigger it. “I’m sorry to hear about that,” he said, a little clumsily, “but I’m glad you’re giving him the opportunity to make a difference.”

Wayne downed the last of his champagne. “All his idea!” the billionaire boasted. “I just gave him the means and the money to pull it off!”

“The circumstances definitely made it an opportune time to have him throw a benefit,” Clark said. “But I can’t say I’ve ever heard of a philanthropist allowing their twelve-year-old to take the helm for something like this. What led you to—?”

“Hold that thought, Mr. Prent.” Clark had half a mind to correct him, but Wayne, it would seem, was done paying attention, his gaze drawn to several giggling young women in slinky, form-fitting dresses. He smirked at them, and Clark had to hide his frown of disapproval.

“Brucieeeeee!” one of them whined, fluttering a bejeweled hand in his direction. “You’ve been a stranger all night! Come say hello!”

“It appears I’m being summoned,” Wayne said with a vapid smile, handing Clark his empty flute. “Enjoy the party! And don’t forget to take a favor on your way out!”

Well. Clark stared down at the elephant etched on his glass again. Nice chat.

~...~

By the time the benefit drew to a close, Clark was exhausted but satisfied with what he’d managed to accomplish over the course of the night. Within several hours, he’d gotten glowing quotes, and some not so nice ones, too, as well as an outline for the story already drafted in his head. The best part, though, was that all in all, Richard’s benefit was a massive success. Seeing his broad smile at the end of the night, and hearing his genuine, almost tearful thank you to those who donated, was worth making it all the way out to Gotham for.

He really was a special kid, Clark thought, one who didn’t deserve some of the nasty, bigoted things Clark had heard whispered about him around corners and in the restrooms. The moment he’d seen their blatant, two-faced behavior, he vowed then and there he was going to find a way to tactfully, and passive-aggressively, address such comments in his article, all the while showcasing just how _great_ Dick Grayson really was.

If he was aware of what some of the elite were saying behind his back, Richard— _Dick,_ he’d corrected Clark more than once—never showed it. The kid managed to find Clark a few other times throughout the night, and they’d talked a little about everything from Zitka, his circus’ lead elephant, to his extra-circulars at school, where he was a star Mathlete. In return, Clark found himself laughing at the kid’s jokes and talking about Smallville, about growing up on the farm, about Lois. To his surprise, Dick lapped it all up, his questions equally thoughtful and interesting.

To be honest, Clark found a lot more enjoyment in the party than he ever thought he would, specifically because of Dick. He was bright, energetic, and funny, and whenever he got pulled away for another circuit of the room, he seemed genuinely upset he couldn’t stay and talk more.

Wayne, Clark didn’t fail to notice, kept Dick within eyesight at all times, and it was a quirk that stood in stark contrast to how the man behaved with his peers—boisterous, drunk, and lecherous, all words Clark would ascribe to the man.

 But...that wasn’t all there was, and it was a shocking revelation. That much became clear to him the longer he observed him. Dick, for example, once approached him in the middle of the night, and Wayne transformed before Clark’s very eyes, suddenly serious, dead sober, and attentive as he listened to what Dick had to say, his smiles far more reserved and fond than the sloppy grins he was putting on for the masses.

That wasn’t the only time it happened either, little hints of another personality shining through the mask Wayne constructed for the rest of them. Clark spent a lot of time trying to figure it out, wondering why it was necessary and if he weren’t just imagining things. He’d even tried to ask Dick when the boy cycled back to him, as carefully as he could, but Dick had seen right through him, smiling indulgently and complaining, “You’re just like him, you know. Why don’t you go talk to him yourself?”

(He hadn’t, but the comment sat with him the rest of the night).

Once Bruce Wayne gave a final speech at about 10:00 PM, people began to file out, and Clark, deciding he had enough to go off of to write his piece, caught Dick’s eye, gave him a little wave and thumbs-up, and left with the first flood. He kept his ears peeled for any additional comments out of habit, writing little notes in his notebook as he walked.

He hailed a cab and kept his nose in his notebook the entire ride to his hotel. He was learning to be quite adept at walking around obstacles while writing, and he maneuvered to the elevator and up to his room with ease, scribbling all the while.

He didn’t stop until he was satisfied with his first draft, well after midnight, and it was then that he realized he hadn’t called Lois. A quick text made up for it, as well as a promise to bring her sushi for lunch tomorrow when he returned to Metropolis. She responded within seconds, obviously working a deadline herself, with a _leave me alone and go to bed, hotstuff._

It was then that he realized he was still in his suit, his tie half undone, shoes on. Any exhaustion he had previously was gone, his writer’s high still running strong, and he took the opportunity to fling open the curtains to his window to peer outside.

The city had a sort of eerie beauty to it, this late at night. Whereas Metropolis was straight lines, blocky buildings, and industrialized architecture, Gotham was an odd mix of gothic and modern, of curves and angles, its lights and shadows working in a disjointed harmony. There was mystery here, in those overcast skies and amongst its chaotic streets, and Clark couldn’t help but want to go fly over it, just this once, to see if he could maybe understand, just a little bit more.

So he did.

He promised himself he wouldn’t be out long, knowing the longer he was out, the more likely it was he’d end up staying up all night, listening for trouble. 

It was just his luck that trouble was just around the corner. Almost literally.

Because of course it was. Damn Lois. He’d say she jinxed him, but to be honest, he really shouldn’t have expected anything different.

The voice came drifting up from a dark alley a few blocks away, near the warehouse district on the bay. It rasped and grated against Clark’s sensitive ears, hardly distinguishable as anything remotely human.

“ _Where is he_?” it demanded.

“Please...” another voice groaned, in a near dead whisper. The words were garbled, half-coherent. “I didn’t...”

Clark didn’t even have to hear the punch land. He was already turning toward the source.

“Tell me where Dent is!” the first voice ordered.

Clark skyrocketed down to street-level, skimming buildings and lamp posts as he descended. He swung around the corner in a rush of blue and red, just in time to see a menacing black figure raining blows upon a cowering man, his hands weakly raised to cover his head as he knelt in the filth of the street.

And the only thing that Clark could think, in that moment, was _not again._

It was a level of brutality Clark couldn’t tolerate, and it was one he recognized in the worst of ways. In the wake of Darkseid’s near destruction of their planet, what else _could_ he think? A rush of fear overcame him, and his eyes blazed as he threw himself forward.   

“That’s enough!” Clark exclaimed.

The attacker didn’t have time to turn. Clark caught the raised gauntlet as it was about to come down, but before he could blink, Clark felt his arm twisting up behind his back. A heavy boot drove into his shin, and another fist came shooting up to his chin. If he hadn’t been invulnerable, he would have been down and _out_ for the count, but even with said invulnerability, he was disconcerted enough by the blow that he couldn’t prepare himself for what came next.

There was a sharp _schink_ of metal, and something cold pressed against his jugular. It drew blood, and Clark gasped in pain, recognizing the bite of Kryptonite coating the blade.

The Bat of Gotham growled under his breath, staring Clark down with eyes hidden by soulless lenses. He was an intimidating figure, dressed from head to toe in black and charcoal, long black cape sweeping across his shoulders and armor bristling with weapons. The ears of his cowl alone could easily gouge someone’s eye out.

“Superman,” the Bat rumbled. “This is not your city.”

Clark didn’t really know how to respond to that. “Does it matter?” he ended up asking. “I help people, no matter where they’re from.”

That, clearly, was _not_ the correct thing to say. “This man is hardly a person,” he spat, nudging the now-unconscious man with his foot.

“Even criminals are people.”

The Bat stared at him and lowered his blade. Clark had to make a valiant effort not to reach up and rub his neck.

“This man works for Two-Face,” the Bat said slowly, rage coloring his tone, “and he has kidnapped and raped three young girls in the last few weeks. If you had used your _head_ instead of storming in, I might have gotten the information I needed to root out the rest of Two-Face’s trafficking ring!”

Clark blanched, stomach rolling. “I...”

The Bat drove a boot into the man’s side. Clark could hear the criminal’s ribs bend. “That’s _enough_ ,” he said again. “He’s despicable, but he doesn’t deserve _this_.”

“I don’t have _time_ to listen to a lecture from  _you_ , Clark Kent.” The Bat flipped the Kryptonite blade closed and started rummaging through his belt. He procured some zip-ties, and sitting the now-unconscious man upright, he cuffed him. “My partner was taken, too.”

Clark’s muscles locked into place, blood freezing in his veins. _How did he know. How?_ This was not, in _any way_ , okay. Not at all. With the effects of the Kryptonite ebbing from his system, he desperately activated his X-Ray vision, searching for Darkseid’s dreaded omega symbol on the Bat’s forehead.

He wasn’t sure if he was more upset or more relieved to see that the Bat wasn’t infected. It meant that the Bat was beating people to a pulp of his own free will. It meant that, maybe, the Bat wasn't exactly an automatic enemy.

It also meant that Clark had absolutely  _no idea_ what to do. 

"You've been watching me," Clark accused, because it was the only thing that made  _sense_. "How did you—?"

One of the Bat’s hands suddenly flew up to his ear, totally disregarding Clark. “Robin?” he asked, and his voice sounded so different, so _human_ , Clark stared incredulously.

He recognized that voice.

Before his conscience could prevent him from thinking this was a bad idea, his X-ray vision slipped its way back from bone to skin, and Clark found himself looking at the carefully composed features of none-other than Bruce Wayne.

Boisterous, drunk, and lecherous Bruce Wayne.

Also the Bat of Gotham.

Too stunned to accept it, unable to fully process _what in the world was going on here_ , he tuned into the voice filtering in through the Bat’s communication device.

“Hey, Bats,” an exhausted boy greeted. “Might as well rename me the Kidnapped Wonder, huh?”

“You take a  _child_ into the field with you?” Clark hissed. “Are you completely insane?”

The Bat ignored him, and there was no humor in his voice when he ordered, “Report, Robin.”

“Found them,” the boy said. “And left them a little something, too.”

“...Where are you?”

“Enroute to your GPS marker. Main and 5th.” There was a soft grunt. “Actually, 6th. No one on my tail. They probably don’t even know I’m gone yet.”

“Injuries?”

“Dislocated thumbs, few lacerations and bruises. No big.”

“Hnn. I’ll be the judge of that.”

“I’m fine,” the boy said cheerfully, unfazed by the Bat’s dark tone. “They underestimated me, and they’re really in for a _nasty_ surprise once they realize I’m gone. You’ll see.”

A light smirk twitched at the Bat’s—Bruce’s?—taciturn lips. “Good work, Robin. Stay where you are. Rest for now. We’ll regroup with you after I call Gordon.”

“Oooo, _we’ll_?” came a chirp of excitement. “Do tell, B. Do tell.”

“T minus five minutes.”

The Bat switched his comm off and turned to Clark. “You’re coming with me. We need to talk.”

Um. No, no, Clark did not like this. This man had made him feel stupid, powerless, and humiliated in all of about three minutes, and not only did this man have questionably immoral methods but he also knew his civilian ID as well as his one true weakness. Bruce Wayne, it would seem, was a _very_ dangerous man, with more knowledge, more skills, and more resources than he would have ever guessed.

And if said man knew _Clark’s_ weaknesses, who’s to say he didn’t know the entire Justice League’s?

Point was: Clark knew _nothing_ about him. Not a damn thing. Nothing except that there was a darkness in him that Clark wasn’t sure he ever wanted near him or his own, lack of Darkseid’s omega mark or otherwise. He was an unknown, a threat, someone who knew far too much for his own good.

It should have been an easy thing, to turn around and fly away. He could have done it. There wasn’t enough Kryptonite on the Bat’s blade to keep him grounded. Not at this distance.

Yet here he stood.

 _Why_?

 “I don’t trust you,” Clark said aloud, and because the man was an asshole who dropped his own identity like a bomb on his head, he decided to return the favor. “ _Mr. Wayne_.”

“It’s Batman,” the man corrected, completely unphased, and without another word, he swept his cape away and pulled out a grappling gun from its holster. “And that’s the last time you’ll use thatname in the field, Superman.”

Clark was going to retort that he wasn’t a child—and that there was no need to treat him like one, thank you very much—until he realized that he hadn’t agreed to go _anywhere_ with the Bat. “Whoa, hang on, who said I was—?”

“The moment you interrupted my case, you became involved.”

Something about how he said that made Clark frown. “You knew I would get involved,” he mused. “At some point tonight, you knew I’d be here. Hell, you invited me here, specifically, didn’t you? To be at the museum tonight? _Why_?”

Batman smirked, and grabbing the unconscious criminal under the arms, he hoisted him upright and shot his line across the alley. It dug into the brick, and he ascended.

Clark ground his teeth, torn as he watched the dark figure disappear over the edge of the roof, and suddenly remembering Dick Grayson’s bright smile and Robin’s cheerful voice...he made a decision.

He followed Batman.


End file.
